


Listen Up Gay Wizards

by TheObnoxiousWindFish



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Multi, My Pyro is they/them but left otherwise up to your hcs, Talk of sex in chapter 6 so be aware kf that too but there’s no smut, Warning for suicide attempt/talk of suicide in chp 5, just mentions that it happens, my god it's gay in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheObnoxiousWindFish/pseuds/TheObnoxiousWindFish
Summary: It can be plural if the whole team learns magic, right?Salt’s TF2 ship drabble collection, featuring a plentiful group of ships. Just don’t expect any HeavyMedic, SniperSpy or SniperScout from me.
Relationships: Demoman/Soldier (Team Fortress 2), Engineer/Pyro (Team Fortress 2), Heavy/Spy (Team Fortress 2), Heavy/Spy/Saxton, Merasmus/Soldier (Team Fortress 2), Saxton Hale/Spy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. Tone Deaf: Merasmus/Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merasmus is hit by a realization wrecking ball.

Merasmus is loathed to admit it, but sometimes his eldritch castle of horrors is too quiet for his liking. It happens every once in a while, where the sound of nothing interesting catches up to Merasmus, and the silence is so deafening that he can barely focus. Not that the alternative was any better, actually - if things were as they tended to be, Merasmus wouldn’t be able to be here, in his favorite chair (which has finally been repaired of all the raccoon damage), reading peacefully.

No, if things were as they usually were, Merasmus would be locked away in his cellar, cursing the noise of violent raccoons and explosions as his roommate did whatever he wanted upstairs. The house, currently spotless, would be filthy with ripped furniture, solid carpets, destroyed books and other arcane objects, with spoiled sour cream and so many other wasted foods strewn about as the rabid animals ate Merasmus out of house and home. Something would break, though, more expensive then the rest, and Merasmus would storm forth like a tidal wave, demanding to know what happened. The Bombinomicon would make some kind of joke about it all (unless he was the object broken), and Merasmus would kick his stupid, sexy roommate and his hoard to the curb until somehow, some way, he got back in. Then the process repeats, until his roommate disappears for work, and leaves Merasmus in this state of clean, yet deafening, quiet.

... Where _was_ that blasted book, anyway? He usually would break this spiral of thoughts to tease the wizard of his emotions and thoughts, yet he’s g-

Ah.

Merasmus had to sell him to pay off the Russian Mafia. 

Briefly, Merasmus wonders if the Bombinomicon hates him for that, but he decides that Bombinomicon never liked him in the first place, and the book will eventually end up back in his library. Just like how his roommate eventually finds his way back to his castle... and how everything that insists to be a painful constant will, without fail, slither back into his life. It’s not like either of them to leave him alone so long.

... How... How long has it been quiet? Merasmus isn’t sure. When did he sell Bombinomicon? When did his roommate return to work?

Merasmus bookmarks his place in his most recent reading, leaving on a table as he stands. His joints creak and his back pops in protest as he does, making him feel so _old_ as he shuffles to the nearest calendar. He stares at for a moment, unkempt brows furrowing as he stares at the date. August 22nd... that can’t be right.

Merasmus lifts the calendar off its place, flipping through the months. July, June, May, April, March, February, January...

He really sold Bombinomicon last year, and that lousy book hasn’t returned yet? And his roommate left for work... No, wait, the last time he saw Soldier -

He killed Tom Jones, except, wait, there was the Carnival, and the Gargoyle - that was really-?

Soldier’s been out of his life for almost a year.

Merasmus’s jaw practically falls off, unable to keep his shock in him. Soldier’s been gone a year next Halloween, and Bombinomicon for six months?

No wonder he’s been so lonely.

Merasmus hasn’t given either of them a second thought in few months, and yet... Merasmus can’t say he doesn’t miss them, a little. Bombinomicon was the less annoying of the two, by far, but Merasmus can’t help but remember the time before Soldier’s raccoon hoard took over. How Soldier would try to help, honestly, even if his methods were unorthodox at best and completely useless at worst, and yet under it all there was a charm to the way he’s grin when he thought he was helping. As Merasmus’s memory of the Soldier he knew reminds him of those hidden traits and those reasons Merasmus could side step most everything he did wrong, an organ Merasmus long thought dead and cold began to thrum in his chest.

His heart - shit, does he have his heart medication? - no, this isn’t a heart issue, it’s just... awakened, remembering Soldier, softly beating emotions into his chest and causing Merasmus’s eyes to widen.

Why did he suddenly feel so warm?

Merasmus paws at his cloak, over his thin, skinny chest, and confirms the fact that yes, his heart is not only beating, but beating faster than it has in so, so long. It hasn’t gone this fast since -

Since he last got to see Soldier, actually... happy, to a degree.

But why now? What about Soldier makes this heart of his react so heavily? Was...

Merasmus sighs. How was he so blind? In fairness he IS practically blind without his contacts, but this isn’t something to worry about now. He drops the calendar on the floor, letting it lay in a pile as he stumbles to the counter, hands grabbing for the old phone. He hurriedly pulls a pinch of dust from his sleeve - it’s magic dust, of course - and brushes it over the turn wheel, letting magic dial the phone for him as he shoves the receiver up to his ear. 

Play it cool, Merasmus.

 **”Hello?”**

“Yes, hello, is this Soldier?”

**”Yes! This is Soldier! What are you calling me for? If it’s about taxes, the mutated bread or Tom Jones, then I don’t have an answer!”**

“What? No, Soldier, it’s Merasmus!”

**”Merasmus? What are you doing?! It’s August!**

“Yes, I know it’s August! I just - look, is now a bad time?”

**”Now is a bad time! I have to plan my wedding!**

Merasmus blinks. His heart shuts off at once, dying into its slow, unsteady rhythm, barely enough to keep him alive.

“I-“ 

He feels himself get heavy, sinking down to his knees, and letting the receiver hang down, as Merasmus feels himself crumble into a ball.

**”Merasmus?”**

Merasmus stares at the receiver, and sighs, finally placing it close enough to respond.

“It... It’s nothing, Soldier. I just wanted to let you know I will be taking this Halloween off.”

**”Merasmus?! What kind of quitter talk is th-“ ******

****

****

Merasmus slams the receiver back in the phone.

This... this is what he gets for being a selfish man, isn’t it? Was what he and Soldier had even any good? Did Soldier actually know how he wormed his way into Merasmus’s heart, when no one else tried. 

Merasmus sighs, forcing himself to his feet, and letting himself float back over to his chair. Perhaps he should go get Bombinomicon back, but... It was hard to feel like he can do anything, right now.

Merasmus really was a terrible friend, wasn’t he?


	2. Boundaries: Heavy/Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the surprise of Spy, Heavy respects boundaries.

The Spy was a master of masks, and that was just part of his job. He kept himself aloof and cold, but anyone who spent more than a few hours around the man know that despite his guarded nature and many layers, he could be human, too - let himself laugh, let himself smile more than a roguish smirk, even let himself cry if he really felt he needed to. The Spy was a complex puzzle of irony, masks and motives that no one could (or wanted to) crack, yet it was almost a game to try without pushing his buttons. He preferred it that way, too - avoiding and dodging every attempt to get personal, to get close, all to protect himself. He was a mystery with a complex story, filled with red herrings and missteps, trapping people in the layers until they give up and leave him to his own devices.

It was just the kind of man he was - secretive, yet taunting. A challenge.

Perhaps that's why the Heavy Weapons Guy took interest in him. He was a fan of literature (enough to get his degree in it), and even if the Spy was a French mystery, it just means he'd need to do more decoding to figure out the answers. Heavy Weapons Guy does enjoy a good challenge - be it to his mind, or to his body. He may not be the most friendly man on the team, but he can be civil, and unlike some people, he's okay with leaving some mysteries unsolved, especially if it involves keeping out of personal business he shouldn't be in.

Safe to say, their relationship was very professional at first.

The Spy had no interest in letting anyone in, and was content to keep Heavy at arm's length. Which was fine with the Heavy Weapons Guy, really - he just wanted to try and get a good read on his coworker to know when he should engage. In fact, Heavy rather appreciated the more professional relationships with his coworkers like Spy and Sniper, and things were fine like that. It seemed like basic respect.

Then, the Spy decided to Heavy was allowed in, a little more. It was subtle changes to behavior - rather than instantly disappearing after work, the Spy would offer Heavy a few words before taking off, and he would be more likely to let Heavy sit next to him when the group was at dinner, or simply playing cards. It was like convincing a stray dog to come forth, and feeding it over time got it closer. Not that the Heavy minded - because not only was he allowed to learn more pieces to the Spy's mystery, he also found Spy to be one of the more bearable members of his team. Heavy can only stand Soldier and Demoman rambling to each other for so long (but in truth, he's not the only one). But this change from professional to much more comfortable friends was a slow process that involved a lot of near death experiences, talking on and off, and the occasional game of cards. They had enough in common outside of work to talk about, at least (for example, they both can agree that dogs are the better animals, which surprised Heavy a little - he would have taken Spy for a cat person).

Then, one night, something changes between them.

Heavy attempts to reread one of his favorite classic Russian novels in the communal break room, the Spy appears out of no where (as spies tend to do), nursing a drink that was very much alcohol, with an expression that is difficult to read. Heavy glances up at his tentative, not completely professional work friend, who only spared him a glance back down. 

"I have somewhere much more suited for that, if you like." The Spy offered. It wasn't exactly quiet in the room - Soldier, Demoman, Medic and Sniper were crowded around a table playing poker - loudly (granted it was only one half of the table being loud). Engineer was working on something metal on the floor near by as Pyro watches with intense fascination, a plush unicorn in their lap as their gaze occasionally shifted from Engineer's work to his face. Scout, however, was no where to be found for the moment - 

Heavy contemplates this.

Was it a test? What was the answer the Spy was expecting out him? No point in guessing.

"Depends if Spy wants Heavy there." Heavy finally decides, and the Spy gives him a confused expression, ever present cigarette dangerously close to falling off his lip and into his drink. Did... Did Heavy give Spy an answer he wasn't prepared for? Maybe he's had more than just that drink. The Spy remains quiet for what feels like a long time, like he's thinking of a reply.

"... I think I'd like that." The Spy mumbles in a voice so quiet, that if Heavy hadn't been waiting for a response, he was sure to have missed it.

With that, Heavy set his bookmark in his book, and rises from his chair as Spy turns sharply, taking another sip of that Heavy can only assume is the reason he was invited to Spy's elusive space - liquid courage to loosen the inhibitions. Heavy isn't sure if he's walking into a trap or not, but at this point he's committed and there's only one way to find out. He keeps the book in his hands, and spares a glance back to the men at the table. the only one to notice Heavy leaving is Engineer, who glances up long enough to give him a wave. Feeling a bit more hospitable than usual, Heavy offers a wave back, and follows after Spy, right as Scout returns from the kitchen with snacks.

The walk is silent, as Spy remains ahead of Heavy. Heavy doesn't mind the quiet, especially since it's a nice change from the shouting of the poker match. The Spy's not the type to talk unless he feels like he should, and Heavy can understand that. No point in speaking unless his voice is needed, after all, and right now, Heavy is comfortable walking with a friend. It occurs to him he hasn't taken his reading glasses off yet - so he quickly plucks them off his face and hangs them on the front of his shirt as he follows Spy. However, just because the silence is welcome, doesn't mean that Heavy is completely relaxed, either - Spies are know for tricks after work, too, and Heavy will not hesitate to destroy an enemy Spy. He eyes the man in front of him, attempting to remember the mannerisms of his own Spy as he stares, attempting to find any tells. If Spy noticed Heavy being suspicious, he didn't say anything.

An idea sparks in his head.

"Spy." Heavy says, and the Spy perks.

"You are as anxious as little dog with mailman at door." Heavy watches close as the Spy stops, trying to register what Heavy just said.

"... A little dog, really?" He finally says, turning around. Heavy studies his expression - the Spy looks like he's about to laugh, clearly taking no offense and if nothing more, amusement. Heavy decides that this Spy is his, figuring that the other team's spy would become offended at being referred to as a dog.

"Little fluffy lap dog." Heavy nods, attempting to make a playful jab. It gets Spy to chuckle, just a bit, and Heavy feels a bit proud of himself that Spy actually laughed at a dumb joke.

"... Perhaps just a little." The Spy concedes, taking his cigarette from his mouth and draining the last of his glass. "We're almost there."

The location that Spy's been leading him to is none other than Spy's elusive smoking room, out of sight and out of mind. Heavy can't help the smile on his face when he steps in, seeing the fine furnishing and fireplace that look so very out of place in comparison to the rest of the facility. It was very... Spy, and Heavy realizes that maybe, just maybe, the Spy trusts him a lot more than he thought. Spy strides over to the bar, quick to refill his own drink. Heavy helps himself, taking to one of the larger chairs and setting it closer to the fireplace. Spy eyes him, but is ultimately content when Heavy sits down and gets his glasses back on his face.

"Would you like a drink?" Spy asks, leaning against the bar as he smothers his cigarette.

"Da." He pauses for a moment, and decides that he's not picky tonight. "What you have is good."

Spy doesn't respond, going quiet as he fills up another glass of something or other (and since it's not the enemy Spy, Heavy reasons he doesn't need to worry about it being poisoned). Heavy returns to his book, the only sound now being the gentle roar of the fire, and the quiet clinking of glass as Spy works behind the bar. It's a shift, but a shift Heavy can appreciate. 

Spy seems to teleport, and Heavy simply nods with a quiet thank you when Spy offers him a drink. He can't help but notice that Spy's now moving his own chair closer to the fire, to sit with Heavy. It's enough to get a chuckle from him.

"Heavy can move for you, if asked." Heavy points out, but Spy doesn't quite react how Heavy expects - he seems more flustered that he tried to move it himself than anything. Regardless, the chair gets where it needs to go, and Spy is now next to Heavy, the fireplace in front of them, the world behind them and a drink to share. It's not where Heavy expected to be, ever, in his life, but it's a welcome change to be sure.

That was the first of many later returns to Spy's smoking room, to the point it became their usual, regular routine - while the others would play cards, or perhaps just retreat to go pass out on their own, Heavy would take a detour to Spy's room, and they'd spend a few hours together. Some times they'd talk, other times they'd simply remain quiet, reading independently or simply enjoying each other's company. Just like before, the changes were slow, but Heavy didn't mind. He was interested in Spy's mystery, who the man behind all the masks was, but he never felt the need to pry - Spy would tell him, or he wouldn't, and that was enough. In fact, Heavy almost didn't notice how Spy would lean on him more often, and that Heavy would leave his arm propped in the right spot so that Spy could so so comfortably. This wasn't a professional relationship anymore, but Heavy didn't mind it, because Spy respected boundaries and that was enough for Heavy. Perhaps that's why Spy trusted him, initially - he liked someone that was smart enough to stay in their own lane. Perhaps Heavy feels fonder about his friend than he wants to admit, but this is war, and his job is too important.

However, on the reverse side of everything, Spy was furious, and losing his patience. He was already mad at himself for giving Heavy access to his smoking room, but the fact he was getting flustered by someone who had no IDEA what he was doing was infuriating on its own. He could handle Heavy as a trusted friend that's allowed in a little more than other, but he cant stand how the same man whose so damn respectful and polite has no idea that his goofy dumb grin makes Spy's heart turn to goop and his knees feel a little weaker. What was Spy's problem, anyway?! Love wasn't an option, especially if he wants to keep his pocket books lined like they have been. It's infuriating, yet every night that Heavy winds up in his smoking room, Spy leans on him all the same, even if they're talking, and he hates that he feels like his guard can slip just a bit.

Heavy would be in a lot of danger if that guard fell, and Spy wouldn't forgive himself if it happened.

Yet one night, Heavy sets down his book early, leaving it on the opposite arm of his chair. Both of them are pleasantly buzzed, especially since Spy had made the effort to stock some of Heavy's favorites when it comes to booze, and Spy makes a bold move. He stands up, swiftly, and plants himself in Heavy's lap, back resting against Heavy's arm on the chair arm and legs politely crossed, off to the side. Heavy blinks in confusion, he wasn't sure what to expect, but doesn't say or move to get Spy off of him.

Instead, he makes that smile that never fails to make Spy soften a little, and lets Spy remain, content with this.

It was safe to say, once the initial awkwardness about the event was resolved, Spy never had to use a second chair when he and Heavy spent time in his smoking room.


	3. Pattern Break: Engineer/Pyro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyro breaks routine to get their point across to Engineer.

Out of every relationship, intentionally kept secret or not, in the entire base, Engineer and Pyro seemed to be the one that felt constant. Where ever Engineer built a nest, Pyro was loyally burning everyone and everything within five feet to make sure any Spies would think again about sappin’ sentries and dispensers. Pyro even favorited the Homewrecker for the sake of keeping sappers at bay, and Engineer couldn’t be more thankful for such a loyal and trustworthy friend. They were practically glue at the hip, and Pyro was happy with any kind of physical attention Engineer would give, especially for a job well done.

Pyro was a lot more reserved off the field, though. When the day was done, Pyro would stay for long enough to get dinner, then disappear with their meal, sometimes for a few hours - only to return, mask and all, and other times the rest of the night, and then waddle in the next morning with their dinner dishes, ready to go. Engineer figured Pyro was just the shy type, and that they needed to recharge their batteries away from people. Engineer let them disappear, often dismissing everyone’s worries if Pyro’s behavior every changed, even a little bit. Hell, Pyro’s first place to hide after their own room was Engineer’s - and even then, be it outta respect for Pyro or because he never looked, Engineer claims he’s never seen a bit of Pyro’s skin, much less their face. They were close as close gets in this kind of work, and you’d have to be missing both eyes to not see how they were one heartfelt confession away from being an item. 

Under that logic, though, Engineer must be a blind man.

Engineer understood Pyro better than anyone, and yet he seemed to miss the all the signs. Maybe it was out of respect for wanting not read the room wrong, but at some point it goes from understandable to straight up ridiculous. The others all saw it, how Pyro would try to ask, but the poor thing was just too muffled. While never out right rejected, Pyro decided enough had to be enough, and to make things clear once and for all.

Pyro rallies their confidence, after winning this fateful night, and instantly breaks their routine. Heavy had made dinner tonight, and Pyro gratefully thanked their coworker with a deep bow and mumbling. Heavy laughed at the display, but Pyro knows Heavy was simply in a good mood. They went back and forth, Pyro making a few gestures to help get the message that they thought Heavy was super good today, and Engineer finally waddles in, the last one to get inside. Heavy gives the man a glance, then nods, taking his own portion and leaving Pyro to their mission.

“Smells good!” Engineer smiles as he makes his way over - the rest of the table chatted loudly to each other as Heavy sat down between Spy and Scout. Pyro waits in the kitchen, next to the stove, rocking on their heels. Without thinking too much, Engineer reaches out and pats Pyro on the top of the head - a bit of a stretch, but he makes it. Pyro claps in return. “Heya, Firefly.”

Pyro grabs the arm closest to them, and takes a deep breath to prepare as they get in Engineer’s personal bubble, awkwardly leaning on his shoulder as the mask is moved, just enough. No one behind them can see it, Pyro figures, and prays this works. 

“Come have dinner with me?” They whisper, barely audible, and back away from Engineer. Pyro slams the mask back over their face, practically shaking at the amount of confidence and (dare they say) suaveness of their gesture, and watching the Engineer’s reaction through their lenses.

The others haven’t noticed, or if they have, they’re pretending they didn’t. Pyro isn’t sure. Engineer’s face has gone about twenty shades of red as he stands at the stove, furiously trying to reboot his brain fast enough to answer. He swallows, and finally speaks, keeping his voice down.

“Uh, sure.” He pauses. “Will mah garage work?”

Pyro shakes their head, and points to the stairs leading to the bedrooms. Not that they don’t trust Engineer’s garage, but they know someone’s gonna stumble in there and Pyro’s gonna lose it. Engineer attempts to reboot again, and nods.

“Alright, then, I’ll carry dinner, you lead the way.” He agrees, and Pyro might burst in joy. Instead of doing that, Pyro just claps their hands and turns on their heels as Engineer finished serving the last two plates, grabbing silverware and making the walk. Pyro practically skips up the stairs to their room, and Engineer follows a bit more carefully - this doesn’t go unnoticed by the table of other mercenaries, whose conversation dies down to watch Engineer follow Pyro up the stairs.

They remain quiet, until the door to Pyro’s room opens, and the two disappear inside. As soon as it shuts, the gossip begins, and Pyro’s glad they’re not dealing with that now.

——

Pyro’s room is different than what Engineer expected. 

The room has a corner of the room fireplace, the second thing you see when you open the door, which seems to have already been used, with a variety of items stacked high on either side for burning purposes. The first thing is actually a beat up table and work bench, which seems to be where Pyro does maintenance on their flamethrowers and other weapons, with their newest toy, the Dragon’s Fury, still on the desk. 

Next to the corner fire place is a closet on the wall away from the door - there are a few extra suits, masks, boots and gloves, as well as a dresser in the closet, but the majority of the space is the closet is taken up by plushies of different shapes, sizes, colors and animals, neatly put into boxes and stacked on the top of the dresser. There’s a door on the wall to Engineer’s right, across from the fireplace, that’s open - it appears to be Pyro’s bathroom (and from what he can see, it’s pretty standard as bathrooms go). A night table with a pink and blue lamp on it is next to the door, and next to that is the bed.

It’s a massive canopy bed with plushies, pillows and blankets scattered around it. The bed itself looks soft and pleasant to lay on, and the sheets are blue, while the blanket is black, with little white stars on them. There’s a small chest at the foot of the bed, against the foot board, closed and locked - but it’s humming, and Engineer realizes it’s a mini refrigerator. There’s another desk next to the bed that had a sewing machine, and to Engineer’s surprise and even larger machine is against the wall of the door - if he had to guess, it was a loom of some kind, but he’s not sure exactly what it does. It’s how that Engineer notices that there’s paintings and other art on the walls, some of them singed. 

Pyro’s already pulling their ensemble off, and Engineer sets their meals down on the chest. He smiles, watching as Pyro looks back at him behind the mask, and fumbles with their suit faster.

“You alright there?” He asks, and Pyro’s attempts to remove their suit just get hastier.

“Fimmph!” Comes the reply, muffled, as Pyro shimmies out of their suit, having already casted their boots and gloves aside on the floor. Finally, the suit relents, and Pyro slips out, revealing that they’ve been wearing long a tank top and shorts the whole time, understandably drenched in sweat. The mask is popped off a moment later, and Pyro sighs.

Engineer finds himself speechless for a second time today.

“Food’s gonna be cold.” Pyro says, and Engineer feels his face heat up as Pyro grabs their food.

“R. Right.” Engineer takes his own plate, and the two sit side by side on the chest.

The silence, save for eating, is charged in a way Pyro and Engineer can’t understand, but it’s charged.

“So.” Engineer begins, and Pyro smiles at him.

“So?” Pyro replies.

“Why the change from the usual?” Engineer asks, sneaking glances of Pyro between bites.

“...” Pyro didn’t think they’d get this far. They blank for a moment, and blush themselves. “... I wanted to tell you somethin’ clearly for once.”

Engineer cracks a grin, and takes another bite. “Oh?”

“You’re the densest man I’ve ever met.” 

Engineer stops eating and frowns, raising a brow as he turns to look at Pyro fully. Pyro, already finished (how?), sets their plate in their lap.

“Whaddya mean by that?”

Pyro turns to look at him back, plate still in their hands.

“I’ve spent a year and a half trying to tell you I love you and you missed each and every time.”

Engineer’s face goes more and more red as what Pyro says processes, enough that he sets his meal in his lap and pulls his hat over his goggles in shame. Pyro can’t help but giggle about it, nudging him with their elbow. 

“I mean I guess I understood that’s what you were tryin’ to say but I-” Engineer begins, and Pyro shushes him.

“You’re a good man and you didn’t wanna read things wrong. I heard you tell the others that before.” Engineer’s face burns and Pyro’s smile is too bright for him right now. “But now I’m tellin’ you now - don’t need to.”

Engineer’s face hasn’t stopped burning.

“I... Well, uh.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere else. “Well, hm - who am I kiddin’? I’ve alway had a soft spot for ya, firefly.”

He admits that, finally meeting Pyro’s gaze, and sheepishly smiles. “A-and when we get the chance, I’d like to take ya home to my folks, and have you meet’m, before we go elope and spend retirement together - i-if you’d want, that is.”

Pyro’s face is red, but not as red as Engineer, who looks like he’s a tomato at this point. Pyro leans on him, head on his shoulder.

“I’m good with that.”

Engineer breaths a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. For now, though - as my partner, it’s a lot sweeter from here.”

Pyro can’t help but laugh about this, chuckling to themselves as Engineer gives them a dorky grin. “If you’re too sweet, I’m gonna just melt the sugar!”

Engineer rolls his eyes under his goggles. “I love you too much to make fun of that.”

“Aw, love you too, Engie.”


	4. Bookkeep: Heavy/Spy/Saxton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BLU Spy knows he’s in a place where he makes one wrong move and it’s over.
> 
> Yet, for who he loves, it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

The BLU Spy has danced with dangerous before.

He knows dangerous like the back of his hand, how a single miscalculation can destroy everything and everyone, and that dangerous follows him around like a dog - nipping his heels, waiting for him to misstep and be swallowed. He has seen dangerous in the way he’s looked at, seen it in the weapons, in pits, on blades, in the dead of night - dangerous is everywhere. He sees it when he slips away from the base, when everyone’s at rest, in a different suit, a different mask. Depending on the night, he’ll slip through enemy lines, or disappear entirely off the map, off to go warm the bed of another man that, should they ever be caught, would cause repercussions so severe that he’d lose everything. Some nights he would be curled in the arms of his favorite bear, whispering to him in a language he knows so well, and his wit can truly shine - others, he was in the lap of a REAL Australian, interrupting his “paper work” (Not that he ever actually did paper work - it was just an excuse to wait for him) with kisses and conversation in a light no one would ever be able to see either of them in.

This isn’t something he’s kept in the dark to them, of course. He isn’t a cruel man, but it was a dangerous move, to make sure his bear and his hunter knew that he’d slip between them. Thankfully, the general opinion that was reached by both parties was “as long as he (being the other) doesn’t hurt you”, and that was enough for the BLU Spy to be content with. They weren’t hunting each other down to wrestle over it, that was good enough. Not that either of his partners could risk that kind of move - it’d expose them both in a way too hard to dig out of.

If his team knew of the BLU Spy’s relationships, they didn’t say anything - perhaps they had their own cross faction lovers to worry about? The BLU Spy didn’t care to dig into it (yet).

Rather than entertain either of his loves tonight (he knew their lives well - the bear was under close watch and he wasn’t one to jeopardize, while the hunter was doing what he loved, outside of their time together; fighting wild animals in the jungle), the BLU Spy remains in his smoking room, a glass of whatever he had on hand that night on a side table, next to his comfortable chair, and a book in his lap. It wasn’t just any book, of course - it was something he took great care in hiding among this room, so much so he even put false versions of it to dissuade anyone from finding the real one. It was the only proper and accurate recording of his life, of his person, to ever exist. His birth name, his childhood, every letter he’s received from his family, every important event in his life, even every photograph of himself growing up, as an adult, and now it hold every letter of affection and every photo of his beloveds that he owns. It’s a priceless, messy book, that held so many things, yet he keeps it all the same.

He sighs to himself as he skims the pages he’s on. On the left of the two pages was the first of many letters he and his bear wrote back and forth - a mailing mix up resulted in BLU Spy receiving a letter that was supposed to go to a newly coupled pair of pen pals. Rather than report the mistake like he would have, BLU Spy decided having someone to go back and forth with outside of the eight other idiots he lives with is refreshing, and he needed and excuse to upkeep his Russian anyway. They were quick to be friends, and BLU Spy remembered his utter dread when they finally met in person and it was the other team’s Heavy Weapons Guy.

Safe to say, he wasn’t instantly broken in half, and they instead had a pleasant chat in person that left BLU Spy with his knees weak and heart a flutter in a way that so many wish they could do to him. Certainly, the shop owners frowned at them conversing in exclusively Russian, but none of them felt like confronting the RED Heavy Weapons Guy about it. It was a comfortable meetings, one they swore to do again, but in a way that was out of the Administrator’s eyes (they both saw what she did to Soldier and Demoman). The letters turned sweeter, more personal, and it wasn’t long before BLU Spy risked more and more to go see him regularly.

The right side held newspaper clippings from the personal ads, a call for someone to act as a date for an important dinner he had picked up, and replied to, under the impression it had been a very eager Australian who wanted to lie his way out of going to a dinner party single - which, wasn’t wrong. BLU Spy only picked it up because he liked to dress up and he hadn’t met his pen pal face to face at the time. It turned out to had worked incredibly in his favor, in the end, but it was still a moment of utter surprise when the man who sold him his current weapons was in a suffocating button up shirt, waiting for him at a bar in Teufort, of all places. It’s not the place one expects to meet Saxton Hale, especially when he could, more or less, woo just about anyone with a flex and a wink.

Saxton Hale could be quite the charmer when he actually tried, however, as BLU Spy had found out - it amused him when Saxton couldn’t figure out who he was at first, and there’s a lot more there than BLU Spy had realized. The dinner itself went swimmingly, and the only real issue was that Saxton was apparently supposed to have brought a woman. BLU Spy wasn’t about to point out that he and Saxton weren’t the only same sex couple there, but at that point Saxton had leapt across the table and started a fight. A surprise, certainly, but BLU Spy wasn’t perturbed (fighting to the death every day of his current life does that to you), and he was rather impressed at how quickly Saxton Hale can end a fight.

BLU Spy wasn’t swooning. He’ll deny he was swooning. 

Miraculously, Saxton Hale liked him enough to “keep in touch”, and gave him a disposable phone that only had contact to Saxton himself, in case he “wants to meet up”. It didn’t bother Saxton that Spy was silent killer who preferred the least amount of blood possible, but maybe Saxton just liked someone who would watch him endanger wildlife as opposed to lower his number of targets. Honestly, BLU Spy couldn’t place why Saxton Hale liked him to start anything more substantial, but it was simply a question he never bothered to ask.

He courted both the bear and the hunter shamelessly, yet still took the risk to make sure both of them were aware of each other before sealing the deal, so to speak. He’d hate to see them actually kill each other, but he supposed if they wrestle each other he wouldn’t mind watching.

Regardless, the sane part of him reminds him how dangerous all of this is, being with these men, and how if he gets too comfortable, everyone will know the sins he commits. However, there’s no denying he cares for them both - so much so that he makes sure that his letters to and from his bear go under the nose of the Administrator, that the affection to his hunter is savored. How he always takes great care of every new Mann Co. developed gadget and hat, hung and taken care of with pride, all of them gifts, never bought. How, when he can afford it, and no one is looking, his bear gets a little attention before being set to respawn once again, just to make it hurt a little less.

He closes the book, and sighs again. He wishes one day he could shed his masks and his shackles, and wake up between his bear and his hunter, so they can live and love in the comfort they wish, where Saxton can still pursue his animals, Heavy can care for his family, and Spy can spend his time with them both.

That day has yet to come, however, and thus he is here, in his smoking room, wishing. He eyes the envelopes under his arm - a letter from his bear and a letter from his hunter - and pulls his knife free from his pocket. Until he can have that lovely life, where his bear and his hunter can share his space, he will simply have to keep it all hidden in his book. 

A smile takes to his face. For now, that life is a dream, but it’s also a promise, and it’s one he intends to keep.


	5. Rolling: Demoman/Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demoman is bad at asking for help, but so is Soldier.
> 
> That’s why they know when to look out for each other, right?
> 
> ... right?

The habits started long, long before team had ever formed.

Drinking is how Tavish coped with everything - coped with death, with nasty looks, with the loss of people he cared about and with every nasty, curling thought that grabbed his brain and reminded him of all the things he couldn’t control. It was a way to drown, literally, everything wrong long enough to do his job... yet, in that same vein, the threats still lingered, still poked through hangovers on the battlefield, leaving him a mess until the enemy sniper put him out of his momentary misery or to simply shut down.

No one on the team knew better, or knew what do to, other than leave him be and let him process.

Respawn would collect him eventually and put him back into euphoric, shit faced drunkenness, and he could fight again. The Medic would chide him, but usually it would fall on deaf ears until late, late at night, when it would haunt him. No one talks about how many self destructive deaths Tavish has, only leaving an uncomfortable silence when they spike higher than ten. It was always at its worst after they took their breaks, and Tavish went home for a few weeks, but then would even out.

The only time this cycle ever broke was WAR - the weeks after he lost were his highest, where he spent more time respawning than actually fighting. The team didn’t know what to do, either. It would be devastating to approach the subject incorrectly, yet not only was he being a drag down, it was a pitiful display to watch him fall farther and farther down.

He was rolling down, like live capsule - handled wrong, he’ll explode, but the wrong move could force something terrible. The scrumpy bottle wasn’t deep enough to drown everything, either, but the fights were becoming unbearable and something had to be done.

So, the Spy did what he does best - insert himself into other people’s business and got things done.

Getting the other team’s Soldier alone was a pain in the absolute ass, especially with how he was so intent of giving their Engineer a tough time that day, but at some point in the conflict, he had dipped aside to grab an ammo pack. The Spy reacted fast - butterfly knife to Soldier’s neck, suprising Soldier into dropping his gun, hand over his mouth, pulling him into the shadows. They were in the Spy’s domain now.

“Apologies, amigo, for the interruption.” Always polite. Soldier struggles in Spy’s grip, skin nicking on the blade. Spy rolls his eyes as Soldier tries to bite his hand. “Listen to me and you won’t die.”

Soldier’s struggling ceases, and Spy keeps him in place. He’s not an idiot, but sometimes Soldier is smarter than he looks.

“I don’t know what you’re planning, you french bastard, but I will never tell you anything!” Soldier declares, and Spy pulls his knife in closer.

“What part of “listen to me” do you not get?” Spy hisses.

Soldier decides it’s in his best interest to be quiet.

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re a man down and it’s your fault.” Spy hisses, and Soldier doesn’t seem to make any moves. “Our Demo man is one night away from never coming back, and you are going to fix it, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it would get you fired, too, because it was your fault.”

Soldier remains oddly still.

“So you’re going to talk to him, and you’re going to do something, because none of us can save him. Your time is limited.” The Spy finishes, and with a single noise of his watch, the Spy disappears, leaving Soldier alone - and back unstabbed. Spy keeps his word, most of the time... but it leaves Soldier in a troubling set of realizations, and how now that the Spy mentioned it, he hasn’t seen the other team’s demoman all round, or all week... even before then, but Soldier’s not sure how much time has passed.

... But the Demoman called him all those cruel and horrible things! Was...

His head hurt.

He shakes it off, and decides to just keep going for now - it’s something he can deal with later. He looks around, picks up his gun off the floor, and pockets it, then reloads his bazooka before taking off.

He keeps an eye out for Demo man, though - and finds him soon enough, staring at a cliffside. Soldier watches him drain the bottle in his hand, stare for a moment, and sighs. Soldier had pushed his helmet back for a moment, just to make sure he was seeing right - and catches Demoman as he steps off the cliff.

His body moves faster than his mind, and Soldier drops his rocket launcher, busting into a full sprint as he reaches out. His fingers grab familiar fabric and he doesn’t think, just pull, pull and hold on. When Soldier’s brain finally catches up to his body, he’s holding the other team’s Demoman to his chest, and he’s just as shocked as Soldier is.

They stay like that, in silence, the sound of war behind them - blasting rockets, screams, bullets.

Soldier unfreezes first, and he lifts Demoman as he is, and ducks for the nearest cove away from everyone’s eyes. The bottle and the rocket launcher are left in the dirt, untouched as Soldier sets Demoman down, and Soldier can’t exactly tell WHY he needs to do this. He should have just let the opposite team member die, save him trouble, but it hits him that this is what Spy was talking about.

“Demo?” Soldier whispers, turning his friend turned foe to face him. His expression is unreadable, his sole eye staring at nothing. Soldier keeps his hands on Demoman’s shoulders. He gently shakes the man, and he seems unable to snap out of it.

“Demo, are you-“

“Why did you stop me?”

The question stops Soldier in his tracks.

“I- I don’t know.” He admits.

The Demoman’s features screw into rage - a kind of rage Soldier only sees in his nightmares, a rage that hits him like in a way that causes his blood to run cold. 

“Why NOW?” Demoman roars, pushing Soldier back. “Why do you come in _now_ , actin’ like- like this? You chose the weapons over me!”

“What?” Soldier asks, his mind racing. “You chose the weapons over ME! A-and you - YOU SWORE YOU’D NEVER CALL ME -“ 

Demoman freezes as Soldier, against his better judgement, starts to talk. “Th-they showed up ay my door! With a screen, with your face! You - You!”

Soldier stumbles over his words, and Demoman can see the tears streak down his face. “Jane...”

“NO! YOU - YOU DON’T GET TO CALL ME THAT!” Soldier snaps. “YOU CALLED ME A CIVILIAN!”

Time stops.

Demoman’s anger burns away, and he looks so, so confused, and disappointed, all in one expression. Demoman shakes his head.

“Lad, I never called you that.” Demoman says, and Soldier’s face falls into confusion. 

“B-but I heard you! On the tv thing that the Announcer lady sent!” Soldier whines. “You said I was a fraud, a bad soldier, never was in the army...” 

Demoman takes a chance and bridges the gap, hands on Soldier’s shoulders as he looks his friend in the eyes (or as close as he can get, with that helmet in the way).

“I never said that, lad. The damn witch lied to us.” Demoman reassures, and Soldier’s lip wobbles.

“You mean you only took the deal because you thought I did?” Soldier asks, sniffling.

“Aye.” Demoman nods. “And you only took the deal cause I did, and you thought I said those nasty things?”

Soldier nods, his helmet rattling around.

“Oh, Janey,” Demoman pulls his best friend into a hug, grenades and explosives and all pressed between them as Soldier pauses, finally returning the hug. It’s tight, practically painful, but it’s the kind of relief that they need. Soldier whimpers, and Demoman rubs his back, mumbling something reassurance.

“I’m sorry, Janey. I’m sorry I believed that witch.” Demoman finally says, pulling back just far enough. Soldier’s helmet is moved out of his eyes and he’s definitely crying just as much, if not more so than Demoman is, and he’s smiling that adorable, goofy grin, like he just heard a dumb joke.

“I forgive you.” 

Demoman sniffles, and smiles back.

It doesn’t fix everything. There’s demons left to fight, things left to sort out and habits to break. It’s a hard, hard road ahead... but with his best friend back by his side, things will work out.


	6. Cigarettes: Saxton Hale/Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I consider this a gift to my pretty cool pal, Numbers. They’re really cool and also I made them ship this - aka this is a 100 word thing I gave them that I turned into a full on piece.

It’s habit for Spy to smoke after sex.

After every fling and affair, he lights up, letting smoke curl away from his mouth as he lays in bed, pleased but not really satisfied. Many have tried, all have failed - Spy continues his routine, every time. A night or few of spoiling and love making, intensely so, and whenever he grows bored, he slips away without a word, and every nightly romp left him in the same space, mentally, every time. A piece of him is hallow, a weird place in his chest just seems to ache, and he moves on without addressing it.

The after sex cigarette was so common, Spy never goes out without a pack of cigarettes - just in case.

Then it changes, so quickly and so fiercely that Spy’s not even able to think of a response. He’s had many past loves of different sizes and shapes, and yet there’s something intoxicating about his current bed mate. Their meeting was a fluke in every way, an unintentional, happened to be in the same spot at the same time kind of situation that makes little sense, even when Spy thinks about it now. The fact they even existed face to face was a problem to both companies, much less the quiet web of lies and truths they’ve spun to keep it together, keep it hidden.

Saxton Hale is a hell of a man for playing stupid so well.

How anyone hasn’t caught on that, like Heavy Weapons Guy, Saxton Hale has a lot going on in the back of his head is a legitimate surprise to Spy. His goals and passions are simple, but he has been successfully running a company that sells hats and weapons, even with his assistants, Reddy and Bidwell. He builds replications of the weapons he sells to the mercs just to know how they work, because even if he can incredibly out of touch, he knows weapon quality is highest and most important thing. He learns best through trial and error, and even if he can be horribly misguided (especially when it comes to people), Saxton Hale is doing his damnest to fill in the mighty shoes of his grandfather and father before him. 

It’s so fascinating to Spy, learning all these little details about how Saxton Hale ticks. Saxton is bad with emotions, but he burns with passion when he cares for someone, going to every limit to prove he cares - especially for his late mother. He would have married Mags and abandoned everything if she hadn’t asked him to reconcile with his father, and take the company when she died. Mags left him after that, too, and Spy knows it’s something Saxton still thinks about.

He’s a tidal wave, all or nothing type of man, and Spy is more into it than he’s ever been invested. It’s like the perfect storm - Saxton Hale is an attractive man, especially when he flexes his arms behind his head, letting everyone see just what wonders daily training, phenomenal genetics, and a hefty dose of Australium can make of a man. He had his merits, his brain worked in the strangest of ways but Spy was embarrassingly charmed all the same when he took a risk and found out Saxton’s family has owned Mann Co since the brothers began their fighting. He could see why people liked him when he wasn’t talking.

Saxton didn’t even talk to Spy directly until the Spy dared to confront Saxton over something with one of the watches. Saxton likes the fire of anyone who is willing to spar with him, fight him, just like Mags.

Not that Saxton would ever compare Spy to Mags. No, Saxton never brought up his former partner, or any of those things buried in his past that most people would at least find some reason to understand him. Spy only found out when they got on the topic of Spy’s previous one night stands, and Saxton shyly (Saxton Hale, _shy,_ ) admitted his pool was rather small and he only ever had one real love who left him. It almost made Spy guilty to have asked.

That’s not to say they didn’t fuck. Quite the opposite - Spy made several trips to Hale’s private office a month. Their first time together was a fluke - it wasn’t proper sex, just a highly charged make out in the closet during a party. Spy won’t admit that he had to go finish in the bathroom, but even that left Spy without the tinge of disappointment these kinds of escapades usually left him with. He only took a cigarette to avoid looking like something was wrong. This wasn’t his first time with a man the size of Saxton Hale, either, but Spy chalked it up to the Australium and the fact Saxton Hale is a chronic sugar daddy to anyone who catches his eye.

That excuse quickly stopped working, because it wasn’t just the fact he was properly satisfied after sex. It was how he would hesitate to leave the bed in the night, how he didn’t fuss when Saxton wrapped him in a hug when he fell asleep, and how he would stay the morning after for breakfast (and play a game of avoiding Mr. Bidwell when he delivers Saxton’s breakfast. This was a Hale tradition that Saxton never bothered to change). It was how he’d keep his ear out to hear wheat his fellow mercs would whisper about Saxton Hale, and the weirs way his shoulders tensed if they insulted him, but relaxed if they praised him. It was how he would lie about the hickies to Medic’s face, how he’d sneak off with little gifts of his own for Saxton, and how his life just felt weirdly, yet comfortably fuller.

Like now, as he lays in bed, suit officially ruined by tonights romp (he can’t even find himself to be mad that Saxton ruined his suit tonight), balaclava pulled away (its own level of scandalous), Saxton dead to the world next to him. He can’t make himself get the cigarette to smoke away the night, because the feeling isn’t there anymore.

It’s by now that Spy simply has to face the facts.

He might just be in love.


End file.
